#rsm.thread

Promoting with Decipher again, even for as short of a time as it was, made finishing work by 2 feel odd and slightly wrong, like he was being lazy for not turning on vlive or practicing harmonies. Everyone in the company building seemed to be frazzled from the stress of work, but after a short cosmetics photoshoot and a brief meeting he was set for the day. 

Instead of fleeing back to his home Seungmin went down to cafe nestled on the first floor. BC Entertainment may be a slave driver but they also had good taste, and the cafe’s coffee and bakery was probably the best on this side of the city. Slinking down the steps in his sullen melancholy from a day gone boring, he drifted to the cafe and into the back of the queue as he silently debated whether he wanted a white chocolate brownie cafe mocha or a raspberry cheesecake latte with extra whipped cream and sprinkles. 

He choose the latter, coming out of the line with a cup as tall as his head and a drink topped with a mountain of white cream and raspberry bits. On the side of his cup his ‘normal, not celebrity name’ was written: Antonio. 

“Yeah that’s me, I’m Antonio. Now I’m going to drink you,” he whispered before taking a sip, then he looked over the available seats and almost choked when he saw Haejun sitting with an old man in a shiny, new suit. Who is that? he wondered, the warning signs and curiosity sirens going off in his head. Seungmin ducked down behind the passing customers, squinted to make sure that yes, that is Haejun making that nasty expression, and stealthily he slid into the booth directly behind the pair. He held his latte, but it was forgotten as he leaned back to overhear the conversation.

“...Your father...the hopital...time...responsibility...” Pieces of the stranger’s lecture came by in fractures, each sending shivers down his spine and stimulating the worst assumptions he could imagine. He grips his latte harder, the cardboard creasing, and soon the strange man leaves. Once he’s out the door Seungmin stands up, hair tousled, and he swings around to face Haejun at the other side. 

“Who was that?!” he blurts, wide-eyed. Is there something wrong? Is Haejun sick? Is there someone important to him that’s sick? His stomach clenched at the thought of Haejun enduring something like that alone, even if he regularly got on his nerves for the past few years. 

On a nice, warm winter’s day he took Sooah to the indoor world of lotte world, simply because it’ll be less crowded now that the Seoulites and travelers would be lured out into the infamous natural world. But they weren’t having any of that today.

“Sooah!!!” Seungmin shot up from his crouched position where he had been digging through gift shop shelves, bumped his head, and shouted Sooah’s name because no one else beside them and the zombified teenage cashier was out on a Tuesday. “It looks like you!” he grinned, waving a pouting, stuffed duck in his hand. Then a second plush joined, a bear with a swollen face and a grumpy, sour expression. “And this is Haejun! Look, it’s practically identical!” He raved, waving the pair as the cashier looked on with muted horror (or annoyance). 

Still smiling, his gaze swept over the gift shop, which had enough mascots to represent just about all the BC artists, and walked over to where Sooah had been browsing. “I think I’m going to get both of these,” he pondered aloud, mushing both on either side of his face. Money wasn’t an object to him these days, and whenever he brought Sooah out for a play date he ended up spending ludicrous amounts of money. Whether she wanted food, toys, or fun, he was happy to fund it so long as they were together. 

“What do you think?” Seungmin asked offering her the duck plush. Instead of classic yellow the soft, synthetic fabric that made up the duck came in a pattern of a pastel rainbow - colors there very much reminded him of Sooah’s sweet (although sometimes mischievous) nature. “Cute, right?”

In the cover of early morning darkness Seungmin pressed himself against the cold window of Decipher’s van and, in vain, tried to clear his mind of all anxieties and troubles. 

But with Kiyoung sitting beside him, and their thighs squished together, his mind became a cacophony of chaotic thoughts: doubt, desire, and the will to smother him in his sleep. With a pillow. Preferably one with BEE printed on it, so he’d accept his fate and go without a fight.

His shoulders droop down just as his will to stay awake does, and he attempts to curl into a ball in the back corner. "Let me sleep. Goodnight forever” he mumbles, closing his eyes. For a moment he keeps still, slowly being lulled to sleep, and then his head slams into the window. “Pothole!” calls his manager, “Ow. Dammit, man!”, he cries, and just like that he’s back to where he was: uncomfortable, oddly aroused, but now in physical pain. Seungmin, sinking into his seat, tried once more to get comfortable and reached for the coffee he left in the cup holder. It’s now black and cold, just like his heart.

His elbow bumps into Kiyoung and when he looks up to him he frowns, feeling crowded in ways both pleasant and unpleasant. “Stop breathing in my general direction you anti-tooth brushing barbarian” he complains for the sake of complaining, not smelling anything but the coffee he was cradling in his hands. Unfortunately, being world famous doesn’t mean they can escape waking up early for their schedules. And since he’s barely awake he doesn’t deserve to sit next Kiyoung and his outstanding, beautiful, gym-toned body. It only means he’ll eventually go insane.

Today was supposed to be an easy day. 

Emphasis on the suppose to be. BC retaliated against his rebellious behavior with white lies and by withholding the truth - not that they hadn’t done that before all of this - and in this case his manager refused to tell him that he’s working with Moonjin for the promotion. ‘It’s good for Decipher’s image, it’s good for your image’, they said to him, and he subsequently surrendered when they claimed to have Haejun waiting to take his place (like hell that’d happen). 

Now he’s waiting for the tension to simmer out as they enjoy their final moments in hair and makeup, moments that fall away all too quickly for his liking. He didn’t have a major falling out with Moonjin like he did with other people, but that didn’t mean he was in his good graces. There’s a feeling of anticipation creeping up his spine, one that unsettles him and puts him on edge. Luckily, he’s reached expert level in pretending to be unbothered. The staff finishes and he looks over to Moonjin, thinking how the last thing he wants to say is something cliche, like ‘how have you been’. 

“How are you?” he asks anyways, his brain short-circuiting. Did he even want to know? He rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward, and looks away to watch as the handlers guide a couple small dogs onto the set. The job should be short and easy, why make it more complicated by pretending he cares (even if he still, in a closed off part of himself, cares, and misses Moonjin’s friendship)? 

Once upon a time he thought that is was the fan’s stupidity that entertainment companies took advantage of, but in actuality the men and women at the top are master storytellers with an arsenal of journalists, lawyers, and actors. The people like him acted out their carefully chosen narratives, and today BC wanted him and their golden girl to play the parts for a heartwarming hoobae and sunbae friendship.

Except, instead of eating sweets and drinking coffee with her, he’d much rather smother her with a pillow. 

“Sooyeonnie,” he cooed at her, as an adoring oppa would. Sooyeon’s a decent actress and, although he’d never admit it to her face, played her part convincingly well. He was certain that if he had a heart, that it melt into a puddle of mush a the sight of her ‘innocent’ smile, gay or not. 

Their v-live mukbang is only slightly more real than their so-called friendship. The cakes are special orders without sugar, fat, or anything resembling flavor, but looked just as good as their true form. They were kind of lucky,though, because the drinks are still sweet, and seemingly untainted. 

“you have something on your face” he said, and poked her cheek, smearing the tasteless frosting on her face. Seungmin did this for the sole purpose of annoying her, because it’s not like she can do anything about until after the cameras turn off. “You’re really still a kid,” he went on, teasing her with a fake smile, “aren’t you?”

He came to Duri’s apartment with a Gucci backpack stuffed with old dvds, low-calorie snacks, and a large, plush alpaca under his arm. Earlier, Seungmin made a decision to mimic his younger self for the sake of preserving his sanity for Decipher’s upcoming promotions and maybe, just maybe, he wanted to go back for a few hours and pretend to be like the old him. 

Duri gave him the pass-code to his apartment, so getting in wasn’t difficult. Seungmin waltzed into his home like he belonged there, although inside his nerves were bubbling with anxiety. Just because Duri still gave him the benefit of the doubt didn’t mean that he’d be thrilled to see him. 

He pulled his hat off and called into the apartment, “Duri? You here?” he asked, hearing nothing in response. The lights were on, but it seemed no one was home. “You taking a shit?” Seungmin called again, and frowning, set his bag and coat down at the table. He figured that in any case he could wait a bit and began shifting through the movies he brought, most starring young anime heroines and magic cats. It wasn’t much later that he began hearing footsteps and, assuming Duri finally decided to crawl out of his hole, turned towards the noise with a smile.

Which didn’t last long. When he saw a woman standing there instead of Duri his lips immediately melted into a deep frown. “Oh,” Seungmin began, tone heavy with disappointment, “it’s you.” 

Ingrid is his bane, the water to his oil, and the piece of dirt stuck in his eye. In a secluded room, small and filled with white furniture, he sat with his headphones covering his ears, hoping to overwhelm noise with bgm and violent sound effects. Whenever he was distracted enough to miss a shot in Doom he cursed underneath his breath, and silently prayed for her to leave to another room. They all had TVs, food, and water. So, what’s the appeal of waiting in here with him? 

In this room too, a flat-screen played the real-time recording of other groups and singers, performing on stage for some end of the year celebration. Seungmin, completely disinterested, tried to sink deeper into a bloody reverie of demon killing, but the problem remains: there’s no comfort in company. As per usual, he only wants to be alone, and he glances up from his Switch to look at her for the first time. 

“Ingrid, if you don’t leave I swear I’ll sabotage you,” he snapped at her “you can be stuck with some colorblind bitch for a stylist next time you go on stage.” It’s not exactly a full-fledged threat, even if he didn’t doubt his ability to make such a thing happen. Rather, he doubted Ingrid’s sense of self-preservation and ability to take his insults seriously anymore.